


After 02x15 (The Maltese Falcon Job) Part I

by PseudoLeigha



Series: (More) 2AM Conversations [28]
Category: Leverage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:50:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6585781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoLeigha/pseuds/PseudoLeigha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot and Sophie talk about Nate getting arrested. </p><p>Eliot makes bread.</p><p>Since 2.14 and 2.15 run right into one another, I've decided to just do two after 2.15.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After 02x15 (The Maltese Falcon Job) Part I

Sophie had, indeed, planned their rescue properly. The helicopter carried them to the roof of a news studio in downtown Boston, and they exfiltrated themselves carefully, travelling separately to one of her bolt-holes – an apartment owned by an alias even Hardison didn’t know about. It would be burned, of course, after this, as would that alias, but if this didn’t qualify as an emergency, Eliot didn’t know what did. Nate was shot and fucking _arrested_ , by _Sterling_ of all people. He was nursing a cracked rib and a minor concussion after taking out _thirteen_ enemy combatants in what was officially the Worst Plan Ever, and the others…

The others were a mess.

Sophie had been crying when she joined them in the chopper, and had only stopped when they needed to make their way through the studio. Parker hadn’t spoken a single word since they had left Nate. She was curled up in a corner of the sofa, unresponsive in a way he hadn’t seen since Serbia, save for flinching away from Sophie and Hardison when they tried to hug her or pat her back. And Hardison was furious. He had ranted about Nate lying to all of them and sacrificing himself, about Sophie coming back just after the nick of time, and about both Sophie and Tara not trusting them enough to tell them about the exit strategy. Eliot bit his tongue, _hard_ , on chewing him out for leaving their captive alone with a damn phone and letting the whole plan go to hell. This wasn’t the time for that. They had to… regroup, first, before debriefing.

Hardison eventually wore himself out, and locked himself in the only bedroom to pass out. Eliot couldn’t say he was surprised. They had all – except Sophie – been up for nearly 48 hours, and while Eliot and Parker might be used to that sort of sleep deprivation, the hacker certainly wasn’t.

He sighed and turned to Sophie. “You can take the sofa.”

“What about Parker?”

“I don’t think she’ll care.”

“But she’s…”

Eliot stomped over to stand in front of the apparently-catatonic thief. “Parker.”

No response. He glared. Nate and Hardison had used up just about all of his patience for the day.

“Parker, move to the chair, or I’ll move you myself.”

She didn't answer, though he thought her eyes narrowed slightly in challenge.

“Fine.” She didn’t flinch when he grabbed her under the arms and lifted her bodily off the sofa. Perhaps she was only adverse to accepting the others’ attempts at comfort? Crazy girl. She stayed curled stubbornly into a ball as he set her in an armchair and wrapped a throw blanket around her, despite his ribs’ protesting.

Sophie looked reluctantly amused. “What about you?”

“Concussion. Can’t sleep yet,” he said, wandering into the small kitchen to take stock. Mostly dry goods, but that was to be expected, given that it _was_ a safe-house. There were dry beans and lentils, though. Rice. Enough cumin, coriander and chili-powder for a half-decent curry sauce. Sophie was the only other person on the team who appreciated good food. He could throw something together to tide them over until they got out of the city. Maybe a soda bread. Yes, there was powdered milk. It might be a bit odd with oil instead of butter, but it should come together well enough.

“Should you be up and moving around?” she asked, concerned, following him.

Like he’d never dealt with a concussion before. He could scrub up and make bread in his _sleep_. “I’ll be fine as long as I don’t have to drive or fight for a few hours.”

“If you’re sure…” she looked doubtful. “What are you making?”

“Curry lentils. Soda bread. Not a lot to work with, here,” he answered shortly, salting a pot of water and pre-heating the oven.

“Sorry, short notice,” she said with a sad smile.

It was too soon. “Sophie…”

“Laura.”

“What?”

“Laura. That’s my real name. You can – it’s been long enough, I think. Call me Laura, please.”

 _Whatever_ , he thought, measuring and mixing mechanically. At least she had apparently gotten what she wanted out of the whole taking-a-break thing. That still didn’t mean he wanted to talk. “ _Laura_ , then. Aren’t you jetlagged? It’s the middle of the night in Europe.” _Take the hint, ‘_ Laura,’ he willed her, but it didn’t work.

She shook her head briefly. “I – I can’t. Nate… I… He kissed me. On the ship. Eliot… he called me. He said – he admitted _he_ needed me. Not the team, him. And then to go do something like _this_? What the bloody hell was he th-thinking?”

 _Eliot_ was thinking that the last thing he wanted to deal with today was a crying Sophie – Laura – whoever she was. But she had come back for them. “Well at a guess, I’d say he was thinkin’ he didn’ see any other way to get the rest of us out. He got us inna’ that mess, an’… he did the right thing, lookin’ out for his team first.”

“But why didn’t he come _with_ us? You said it yourself, you could have taken the cops –”

“Soph – _Laura_. I don’t like hittin’ cops. If he’d’a asked, I woulda’ done it, but… he was shot. This was the best way. They’ll take care of him – get him patched up – he’d’a been a liability to us, now, runnin’.”

Laura looked horrified. “He was _shot_? And I – oh, my God. I _slapped_ him!”

Eliot couldn’t help but laugh at her sudden regret for her actions, which _he_ regretted instantly, as it jostled his ribs painfully. “He deserved it. He told us… he told us he had an out for _all_ of us. He played us, worse than you did over the Michelangelo. We… _I_ should have known, when he outlined the plan, that it was impossible. That this was the only way we could get out. Well, that or dropping everything and runnin’. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Laura groaned. “So that’s why Hardison’s pissed?”

“That _and_ you not tellin’ us that you had Tara runnin’ around makin’ secret meetings to put you on the board. He thought she was a traitor, let the prisoner escape while he was tellin’ Parker, an’ that’s why Kadjic turned – fuckin’ mayor clued him in.”

“I –”

“Save it, Sophie. Laura. As far as I’m concerned, coming back counts for somethin’. But you didn’ trust us to have your back, an’ that cost us. So I don’t care what your excuse is.” _It’s not good enough_ hung heavy in the air, unspoken.

That didn’t stop her, of course. She made a noise of frustration, then said, “I didn’t _tell_ you because I couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t tell _Nate_ , and… Parker was right.”

“Parker?”

“She… she came to me, oh, months ago, after that utter mess with the magician, you remember, when we talked about how I was worried that he was going to lose a job, and break down completely?” Eliot nodded slowly. Parker had known about that? This was news to him. “Well, _Parker_ thought that the solution to that little problem was to sabotage a job, make him break down sooner rather than later, before he was too far gone to have a hope of fixing things.”

“So you -?”

“So I just wanted him to realize that he’s not God, Eliot. I wanted him to fail, and know that he was failing, and there was no way he could fix it, no safety net. If he knew I was there, waiting in the wings… it wouldn’t have had the same impact.”

“You wanted him to hit rock bottom.” That… made sense. In a twisted way. _Fuck._

Laura made a face, but she didn’t contradict him. “Well, if I’d known how bad it was going to be… I didn’t think that rock bottom would be quite this…”

“Low?”

She sighed. “Exactly. Shot, arrested, _and_ in bed with James _fucking_ Sterling? I was _expecting_ a loss, a bender, for him to tell us all to bugger off – he was done! Not… not _this._ ”

Eliot snorted. Like that would ever happen. “I’ve said it before, S – Laura. The drinking, the recklessness, they’re not the problem. They’re a symptom. He’s… mourning. Not just for Sam, either – his whole life, his sense of identity – Nate Ford, Honest Man. _You_ should know that better than anyone.” He gave her a pointed look, kneading the bread perhaps more vigorously than necessary before scoring a cross in the top of the loaf and dropping it onto a baking sheet. “Much as I _really_ hate to say it, this might be the best thing that coulda’ happened to him. There’s… not a lot of room for denial, in jail for the crimes he _has_ committed. And they’ll get him sober. He’ll have nothing but time to think, come to terms with his life.”

“So what, you want to just _leave_ him there?” Laura’s expression was somewhere between appalled and horrified.

Eliot shrugged. “Not forever. Give him a few months to work through things, heal up. We make ourselves scarce until then, let the heat die down. Let him testify against Kadjic, hold up whatever deal he made with Sterling. And then we’ll break him out, set up somewhere else. Hardison’s been talkin’ about Denver.”

Laura bit her lip as she considered this. Eliot poured the lentils in to boil. “Two months. Don’t drop off the radar entirely. I’ll keep an ear to the ground about the trial, call everyone in if it’s sooner than that.”

Eliot nodded. Eight weeks? He could do that.

Laura smiled weakly, and caught his flour-covered hand in a squeeze. “Thank you, Eliot.”

He nodded again. “No more secrets, Laura.” There was sure as hell no way he was going to tell her ‘any time’ on this one.

“Agreed,” she said, almost too quickly, but he took that for relief. At least she wasn’t crying anymore.

“Bread has to bake for forty-five minutes. I’m gonna’ grab a shower. Don’t let the lentils boil over.”


End file.
